Everything She Never Knew
by caffeineaddict13
Summary: Kate has never known a life outside of privilege. As it turns out, there's a lot that she's not ready for. Katefic, pre-Twilight.
1. One

**A/N:** For the sake of this story (and…it's, you know _possible_, since Kate's birthday is pretty much unknown), Kate is 17 in 1912. For reference, let's call this about three generations before Bella. Tanya, Irina, and Sasha (their creator) are vampires at this point.

--

PROLOGUE

--

The blond girl had snuck up on him.

"Kate," he nodded, pursing his lips. "What is it?"

She tilted her head, studying him. There was something about the shape of his lips…

"Nothing," she answered, shaking her head. "Just thought…" she squinted again, trying to see below the stern mask and black eyes. "But never mind."

Jacob snorted. "That's new."

"What is?"

"'Never mind.' You don't usually hold things back."

Kate bit her lip. "It's just – for a second, you looked –" She didn't finish the sentence, cutting herself off instead.

Jacob was curious, now. "Looked like what?"

She turned around, choosing not to meet his gaze. "Like _him_." Her voice cracked as the words slid out of her pale lips.

"Who?"

Kate was silent for a moment. It was night – the moon shined lightly down on where they stood at the edge of the cliff. Even in the darkness, Jacob thought he could see a shine on her skin. The ends of her hair fluttered as a breeze blew by, and he heard the intake of breath before she turned around.

"Jacob," she began evenly. The boy blinked, confused at her sudden change of tone. "Has anyone ever told you how I died?"

--

ONE

--

Katrina St. Clair was beautiful. This was simply a fact.

Her mother, Ivy, was a society woman and hosted some of the best social gatherings in the area. She had met Preston St. Clair through familial connections, and it only made sense for the two to wed. Both were powerful families and their wedding was one of the most well-attended of the year.

Preston owned one of the largest banking companies in the western United States – his work was hard but gratifying and his wife was often left to occupy her time with other things, as he was working for most daylight hours.

The St. Clairs traveled north for their honeymoon, towards the unfounded area covered in snow and ice. Both preferred the cold to warmth, any day.

It was during this trip that Katrina was conceived. Ivy stayed the length of her term in a small shelter in the same town as they honeymooned, as the pregnancy was sudden and required bed-rest. The St. Clairs welcomed Katrina – named after Preston's mother – in the year 1896.

With her mother's full lips, her father's blond locks, and the angular features passed down from both sides of the family, Katrina was the epitome of beautiful. She had a sort of intense beauty – the kind that made men fall over themselves and stutter, the kind that made even the strongest suitor grow cautious. It didn't help that Katrina was a huge flirt – men fell in love with her just from watching her smile.

The life of high-society matched Katrina perfectly. She was not the kind of girl who took no for an answer, and she liked having things go her way. She was smart, clever and careful, but her life had molded her in such a way that she knew of nothing else. She was a different person at home then she was in public, where society had trained her to be cruel. She was used to mocking those underneath her, sticking up her nose at the girls who didn't come from good money.

Despite having the life that these same girls – and, at one point, herself – dreamt of, Katrina was bored. Every day was the same thing, and she was tired of having to act perfect. She was tired of the silly girls and having to go along with them – of parties and cotillions and balls.

Washington had never seemed as lonely as it did in the summer when Katrina was seventeen. The warm rain often made her stay inside, and she had too much time to think about the life she had ahead of her. She knew that she was destined to turn out like her mother – marrying young, having children, learning to play the piano just to have something to do when her husband was away. This was not the life Katrina looked forward to.

It was this thought that plagued Katrina a day in early July that broke hot and bright. She awoke from a dream, still tired but restless, yawning as she pinned up her hair. She put on a gown over her nightdress and walked down the stairs to the dining room. Her mother was sitting at the table with a cup of tea and a plate of scones.

"Mother," Katrina nodded. Ivy smiled and gestured for her to sit. She took the seat on Ivy's right and filled her own cup. Her mother appraised her outfit as she began to eat.

"Don't forget about the Constantine engagement tonight, darling."

Katrina nodded again, her mouth full. She swallowed before turning back to Ivy. "Do I have to go?"

"Of course. Gregory Constantine is a partner in your father's business and Lela is your age."

"Yes, but, mother," she started, "I don't even _like_ Lela Constantine."

"Well, you don't have to like her," Ivy said. "You just have to go."

Katrina sighed. "Fine." She brushed a few crumbs off her gown before speaking again. "May I be excused?"

"You may," Ivy complied.

"May I go outside for a little?" Katrina asked carefully, watching her mother's expression.

Ivy pursed her lips. "I suppose. Clean up and be back by four. Don't be late."

Katrina grinned and kissed her mother on the cheek. "Thank you. I won't, I promise."

The older woman couldn't help but smirk at her daughter's enthusiasm. By the time she warned, "don't go too far, darling," Katrina was already halfway up the stairs.

She quickly slipped on a day dress and fixed her hair again, smiling as she looked in the large, framed mirror that stood over her bureau. Had she been asked, Katrina wouldn't deny that she thought she was pretty. It was something she was proud of and she usually took the time to look her best. However, it was not often that her mother let her visit around town unaccompanied, and she wanted to have a good amount of time to do so.

Katrina walked outside, immediately smiling at the feeling of white cotton on her skin and sunlight on her cheeks. The air was soft against her – when she closed her eyes the wind almost felt like a caress, and she decided it was the perfect day to stop by the shore.

Water had always appealed to Katrina. The way it moved, flawless and jagged – a contradiction in its own. Even when she knew it wasn't proper, she liked to sneak off by herself sometimes, walk in ankle-deep and look down at the opaque gray-green. The color of the ocean was the same as her eyes, and Katrina imagined that perhaps it was a part of her, too.

What she had _not_ expected, however, when she reached the beach, was to see a tall, russet-skinned boy wading into the water. Her eyes grew wide when she saw that he was not dressed, his only accessory being his unfashionably too-long hair, which stood stark black against the red-brown of his shoulders.

"Excuse me," Katrina called out to him. The boy turned around. "But what exactly do you think you are doing?"

The boy squinted at her, confused. He loped slowly out of the waves, picking up a piece of cloth that was sitting by the water and slipping it over his legs. Katrina looked away for this, but as he moved closer, she began to study his face. Dark eyelashes framed eyes that were close to black, a straight nose and wide lips. His features were very different from the boys Katrina knew, and she realized from his broad build and sharp face that he was an Indian.

"I'm sorry, but shouldn't I be asking _you_ that, miss?"

"What do you mean?" Katrina asked indignantly. "I live just a half hour up the road. I come here often."

"Perhaps you don't come often enough," the boy said, smirking. "I'm Ephraim Black, and this is where my family lives."

--

**A/N:** Oh, intrigue! Tell me what y'all think, please (seriously, any and all feedback is encouraged), 'cause I'm a bit nervous about putting up a non-J/B fic.


	2. Two

"_Perhaps you don't come often enough," the boy said, smirking. "I'm Ephraim Black, and this is where my family lives."_

"Well," Katrina huffed, pushing back her shoulders. "You should be wearing a bathing costume, at any rate. It's rude to be dressed…like _that_, in front of a lady."

"You'll have to forgive me, miss," Ephraim said. "I wasn't expecting to be facing a _lady_. You're the St. Clair girl, I'm guessing?"

Katrina found herself annoyed at Ephraim's smugness. Why was he still grinning? "Yes – Katrina St. Clair."

"I figured as much," he nodded. "Only a St. Clair would think of Indian land as their own."

Katrina's mouth fell open. She looked closer at Ephraim's face, and noticed that while the smile was there, his jaw was clenched and his eyes were angry. "I – I'm sorry?"

Ephraim's mouth twisted into a sneer, now only a few feet from her. "You think you're entitled to everything, don't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Black," Katrina answered coldly. "But if you are trying to insinuate that I –"

Ephraim scoffed, his face growing impossibly harder by the second. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, Miss St. Clair. You and your family – walking on _this_ land, swimming in _this _beach – things that you _claim_ are yours – just forgetting we _exist_…it's shameful. If I were you I'd –"

"Yes, well," Katrina snapped, pointing a finger at him. "You are _not_ me, are you? And you know nothing about me – or my family. You are nothing but a silly boy who walks in the sand all day as if he owns it, and if you had the least bit of common sense you would hold your tongue. The next time you wish to insult a St. Clair, please, sir, think about who you are addressing."

Ephraim shook his head, breathing deeply as though he were frustrated. "You really don't know, do you?"

Katrina sighed. "Know _what_, Mr. Black?"

"Your people and my people do _not_ get along. I was taught to…_endure_ the wasiku, but I find it almost impossible to do so now that you are here."

Ephraim shook his head when Katrina didn't answer right away, preferring to stand with arms crossed and lips pressed together. After a minute of silence, her arms dropped and her expression softened.

"Forgive me, but I'm still lost. What have _I_, Katrina St. Clair, done to offend you so, Ephraim Black?"

"Your people have –"

"No," Katrina shook her head. "No, not my people – not my family, not those who share my face. What have _I_ done, sir?"

For the first time, Ephraim didn't answer. He opened his mouth as if to respond, but it closed and opened three more times before he receded to just staring.

"Yes, that's what I thought."

Ephraim dipped his head a little, keeping his eyes on Katrina. His cheeks were still red from his previous outburst, but he looked surprised now, almost ashamed. "I'm sorry, Miss St. Clair. I –" He chuckled, his eyes lightening. "You have to understand that I am used to being ordered around, looked down upon, hurt and humiliated by your kind. I realize now that categorizing _you_ not as a person, but as one of _them_, is just as bad as what they have done to me."

Katrina smiled sadly. "Just as you were raised a certain way, so was I. I do not blame you completely for judging me. Others of…my _kind_, as you say, would have done the same."

Ephraim tilted his head, studying her face. "You are not like those others, are you?"

Katrina shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I've only ever been me."

Ephraim laughed again, loud and deep. Katrina found the sound…warming, almost, and she couldn't help but join in.

He stopped after a moment, breaths coming out short. "You have a beautiful laugh, you know." He smiled to himself, as though enjoying a private joke. "So much…sweeter than I am used to."

Katrina herself was used to praise, and she had heard every compliment there was about her tones. However, flirting with Ephraim felt very different from talking with the boys in her social circle. It's not that he was difficult to talk to – despite her anger at his previous comments, Katrina also found it rather refreshing to converse with someone who wasn't constantly trying to impress her. She felt open in a way she wasn't used to – and it wasn't that he was any less or more attractive than her usual suitors, because he wasn't, not really – it was that he was just so very _different_. So unlike them – so unlike _her_.

Finally, she smirked, looking up at him through her lashes. "That's saying something, as you have yet to hear me sing, Mr. Black."

Ephraim grinned, but before he could speak again there was a shout from across the beach. Both of them turned, Katrina squinting enough to see a form, as dark as Ephraim, waving a hand over his head.

Ephraim shouted something back to the figure, in words that Katrina did not understand.

"I apologize," he said, looking back at her. "I must leave. I hope I will one day get to hear you sing, Miss St. Clair…" He paused, smirking. "Katrina St. Clair, who has only ever been herself."

"It's just Katrina," she replied, laughing.

Ephraim nodded. "Katrina, then. It's been…a _pleasure_ to meet you."

"I wish I could say the same…" Katrina teased.

Ephraim grinned again, sweeping into a bow rather gracefully, before turning and running away.

--

**A/N:** I'm really trying to be as historically accurate as I can here, folks – there is a reason Ephraim can speak English and I'll explain that in coming chapters. If anyone has any advice/comments/questions/whatever, please feel free to review, PM, etc. Oh, and "wasiku" is a Native term for Europeans/outsiders, in case you were wondering. Thanks for reading, y'all.


	3. Three

When Katrina arrived back at her house, her mother was waiting.

"Get dressed, Katrina," she said, pointing a finger. "And do your hair. It's a mess."

Katrina scowled at Ivy once she had turned around, but walked up the stairs to her bedroom anyway.

It was still light when they left, and Katrina pinched her cheeks, nervously smoothing the blue satin she wore. She didn't really understand why she felt so _restless_, but she couldn't help imagining that she was somewhere else.

"Katrina!" a high voice exclaimed. She turned at the sound of her name, biting her lip before flashing a smile.

"Lela, dear." She kissed the other girl's cheek. "You look beautiful."

"And you," Lela said, her eyes twinkling. Katrina could tell that something was up – Lela only ever got that look in her eye if there was some good gossip to tell.

Katrina reached over and tucked a lock of Lela's brown hair into place, before taking her arm.

"Where is everyone?" she asked.

"Just over here," Lela replied, leading her to a semi-secluded corner. "Guests are still arriving, and my mother will _murder_ me if I stay, but I'll be back soon." She grinned, leaning forward. "Enjoy the party till I return, alright?"

"Of course," Katrina said. Lela walked away, lifting her long skirt as she made her way back to the entrance. Katrina looked around, familiarizing herself with her surroundings.

It wasn't anything new – she had been to the Constantine's ballroom before, many times, actually – for parties and the like. She recognized the girls standing around her, nodding and smiling as they informed her of the various points of interest in the room. It was not long before she was daydreaming, picturing bare feet rather than tight shoes, sun rather than candles…

"Katrina?" She snapped out of her reverie. The red-haired girl standing next to her, whom she recognized as another one of her father's business partner's daughters – Catherine, maybe? – was pointing at something.

Katrina pulled the girl's arm down. "Don't be _rude_," she snapped. Catherine rolled her eyes.

"As if he would _notice_," she scoffed. A crease formed on Katrina's forehead as she studied the man Catherine had been pointing at. He had olive, almost tawny-colored skin and shoulder-length black hair. His form was tall and lean, with a distinctly _upright_ quality, as though he thought himself better than others (although, she told herself, this was not such an unusual thing among this society). His strange complexion gave him an other-worldly feel, but this wasn't what surprised Katrina.

"Who is he?" she asked. It was very unusual for the St. Clair daughter _not_ to recognize someone – especially a man who looked to be of age. And she knew that if she _had_ seen him before, she would've remember it.

"His name is Demetri Russo," Catherine said, curiosity evident on her face. Katrina saw the man turn at that, catching her eye as if he had heard them. He tilted his head and stared for a moment before turning just as quickly away.

"What do you know about him?" _This_ must have been what Lela had wanted to tell her, she realized. Distant, exotic-looking men didn't just shoot out of the ground.

"Not much," Catherine admitted. "Apparently he's here on business from _Italy_."

"How…exciting," Katrina dead-panned. Demetri's mouth twitched from across the room, and Katrina wondered what he was laughing at.

"He can't be much older than twenty-five or thirty," Catherine remarked. "He's quite good-looking, isn't he?"

Katrina nodded, studying the visible circles under his eyes. What work did he do that gave him such a noticeable lack of sleep?

She was lost in thought when she felt a hand on her arm. She jumped, wrenching the limb away and turning to the offender.

Lela wasn't fazed. "Did you see him yet?" she asked, grinning. "Mr. _Russo?_"

Katrina snorted, putting a hand over her mouth to cover the sound. Lela said his name as a whispered exclamation, heightening the 'u' and hissing like a snake.

"Yes," she said. "Sort of stands out, doesn't he?"

"Mmhm," Lela murmured, setting her sight on Demetri. This annoyed Katrina to no end.

"He's not a piece of _meat_, Lela," she said. "Put your eyes back in your head, would you?"

Lela laughed. "Darling, have you _seen_ him?" She leaned closer, raising her eyebrows in his direction. "He's not here for _business_, I can tell you that much."

"What do you mean?"

Lela smiled. Katrina clenched her fists at the familiar expression – gossip was not something she was particularly fond of. The unusual, however, _was_. And Demetri was _definitely_ unusual.

"I _mean_," Lela stressed, "no one's heard of him. Not the Desanta's, the Terrances, the Birrs…I heard Mark Linden talking with my father, and apparently he just showed up out of nowhere. No family, no background, _nothing_."

"But…" Katrina began, confused. "What about –"

"Oh, he's got money, alright," Lela assured her. "Plenty of it. Not blood money, either – whatever he does, he's good at it. We just don't know what _it_ is." She paused, licking her lips. "He's a mystery."

"Mystery, huh?" Katrina said, softly. "I don't much care for mysteries."

"What are you –" Lela put a hand on Katrina's arm, but Katrina yanked it away, smoothing her hair and putting on a smile. She walked across the floor, slowly, nodding at any familiar faces as she passed. Demetri's gaze leveled with hers once she was a few feet away, dipping his head in greeting.

"Miss," he said. His voice was smooth – oily smooth, the kind Katrina recognized from some of her father's shadier business partners. It was low, though, and had an elegant quality to it, with a hint of an Italian accent.

Katrina reached her hand forward, and Demetri took it in his gloved one. She saw a flicker of surprise on his face when their skin touched, a moment where his grip tightened, confused, but it passed just as quickly, and Demetri just barely touched his lips to the back of her palm. Her smile grew tighter as she saw his eyes, very dark, and the translucent quality to his skin. She felt a gnawing at the pit of her stomach, her body's way of letting her know that she wasn't safe.

"Katrina St. Clair," she offered, swallowing her instincts.

"Demetri Russo," he said, dipping his head again. "Pleasure."

As she walked away, as though meeting him were just a step in the path to her eventual end, Katrina realized that though she didn't know much about Demetri Russo, she knew that something was definitely _not_ right.

--

**A/N:** I'm actually updating this a little earlier than I expected because I'm going to be away this week, so unfortunately my weekly update cycle will be broken. Anyway, thanks to everyone who's reading!


	4. Four

**A/N:** I know it's been a while. I promise updates won't be that sporadic in the future (at least for the next few months). Anyway, hope you like it!

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The next morning broke early and bright. Katrina moaned as she slid out of bed, twisting her hair up with a clip and walking down the stairs to the kitchen. Ivy was, as usual, at the table with a cup of coffee and breakfast ready for her daughter.

"Mother," Katrina nodded, rubbing her eyes as she sat.

"You have piano at six," Ivy told her. She looked up and tilted her head, studying Katrina's face. "You should go outside today," she said softly. "Your color is off."

Katrina smiled. "Of course."

--

The walk to First Beach was much different than the last time. Katrina's stomach tickled with nerves, and her white shoes seemed too formal and loud as they shifted the sand with a hiss. She slid them off, glad that the sky had darkened a little, as there were not so many people around to see.

Katrina wasn't going to lie. She knew what (who) she was looking for and the strangeness of this fact didn't escape her. When Ephraim's form appeared, standing near the water, she knew that she was going to walk up to him. She just didn't know exactly why.

"Ephraim Black," she said, her breath cut short as she stopped next to him. He didn't look at her, keeping his eyes on the horizon and smirking.

"Katrina."

She expected perhaps he'd say more, but he didn't. The silence quickly grew to be too much for her.

"I…" she paused, realizing she probably should have thought before speaking. "How have you been?"

"It's only been a day," he replied.

"Does that mean you've been well?"

Ephraim chuckled. "Yes, I'm well. How are you?"

"Fine."

"Glad we've come to a conclusion." The corner of his mouth twitched and he looked up at her suddenly. "Come on. I want to show you something."

He grabbed her hand and turned, pulling her along with him as they made their way across the beach. His grip was warm and she stared, the complete opposition of their palms capturing her attention.

"I can walk by myself, you know," she told him, pursing her lips.

"Oh, I'm sure of that," he said. "I just don't want you wandering off on me."

Katrina sighed. "Where are we going?"

"We're almost there."

They walked in silence for another few minutes, hands still entwined. Admittedly, Katrina was grateful for this, as Ephraim's footsteps were longer and faster than hers – were it not for his help she would probably have fallen behind.

Ephraim stopped, abruptly dropping Katrina's hand. She pulled it back and wrapped it in her other one, surprised that she was craving the leftover warmth.

"Okay," he said, grinning.

Katrina, out of breath from the walk, watched as Ephraim proudly gestured towards what looked like part of a fallen tree. The bark was peeling, almost completely off, revealing the strong tan wood beneath.

"If you don't mind me asking," Katrina said, quizzically, "what exactly is it you wanted to show me?"

He smiled again, his teeth gleaming white against his dark skin. "When I was very young, my father made me bring part of an old tree to this spot. I was a lot smaller then, and I could barely hold up the trunk, let alone _carry _it. But I didn't let him know this, of course – I spent two weeks dragging it here, little by little, until finally I could show him and be proud."

He paused, flipping his arms palms-up. He took Katrina's hand and placed her fingertips on the faint white lines that traced his veins, like chalk drawings on a stone wall.

"That's what these scars are from," he said. Katrina felt the raised lines, amazed.

"Why would you do something that hurt you so badly?"

"You have to understand," Ephraim said, his expression serious. "My father's approval…knowing that he is glad that I'm his son…this means more to me than anything. My family is a part of me – not just the people that made me, but the people I look up to, the people who have cared for me and watched me grow. Do you know what that's like, Kate?"

Katrina shook her head. "I respect my parents, of course, but I don't think I would mark my body like that to please them."

Ephraim smiled, his eyes soft. "I envy you for that, a little. Control is not something I enjoy. Especially when it's being held over me. " He leaned down, gestured for her to do the same. "There's one more thing."

Katrina followed the line of Ephraim's arm to where his fingertips rested on the log. There were lines cut into the pale surface, and she reached her hand over to Ephraim's, feeling the indents in the wood.

It was quiet for a moment, until Katrina turned to him, surprised at the closeness of their bodies.

"What did you call me before?" she asked.

"Kate," he said gently.

"Kate," she echoed. "I rather like that."

Ephraim took his hand from it's resting place on the wood, reaching underneath it instead. He pulled out a small silver blade, a leather cord wrapped tightly around the end. Leaning forward, he began to carve letters into the wood, right next to the ones that spelled out his own name.

After a few minutes he turned back to Katrina. "Kate," he said, nodding towards his work. "It fits."


	5. Five

Over the next two weeks, Katrina St. Clair became _Kate_.

Almost every day was spent at First Beach, walking across the sand with Ephraim, bare feet and hair loose. They didn't talk about anything in particular, yet there were not many subjects that _didn't_ breach the topic of their conversations.

Kate told Ephraim about her parents, about how she loved them but she sometimes wondered if they only thought of her as an asset to their marriage, rather than a part of a _family_. She told him how badly she wanted a sibling – someone she could talk to and teach and learn from. How the girls she had come to call acquaintances bothered her most of the time, with the shallow way they talked and the way they made her feel about herself. She told him that she wasn't sure she even knew whom she _was_, at this point – and that she wasn't even entirely sure she wished to end up like her parents, in the same circle of people she trudged through adolescence with.

Ephraim always knew when to smile and say something sarcastic, when to make her laugh or laugh himself. He knew as well when to keep quiet, and Kate found herself watching his stoic face as he listened, and appreciating it just as much as his grin.

She learned much about him, too. He told her more about his father – a lot more; stories of tests and meetings and responsibilities, things she never would have guessed could even _exist_ in the life of someone so young. She learned that his mother died during childbirth, that as much as he loved his father he still wished he had known the man his mother fell in love with. Ephraim told her about the tribe and the traditions, stories of ancient spirits and myths. Occasionally he would bring her something from his home, little wood-carved dolls painted red and yellow – things that looked out of place sitting in the ordinary white of her palm.

Although each day they walked a different path, they always ended up in the same place: the fallen tree where he had first called her Kate. She tried endlessly to find ways to sit that were not so undignified – ways that would not dirty her dress and muss her hair from the quick ocean wind – but it was useless. She blushed as Ephraim laughed at her peculiar positions, often more unbecoming than where she had started.

In the afternoons, Kate returned home to her mother, and if she had grown suspicious it certainly didn't show. If the nights weren't spent at some social engagement she was obligated to attend, Kate sat with her parents as they read and embroidered and hoped they wouldn't notice the far-off look on her face.

--

"I want…" Ephraim started, eyes twinkling. Kate recognized the expression, along with the smile and quick turn of his head. "Never mind."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing important," he shrugged. "Just an idea."

"I don't believe I've ever heard you say _nothing important_, Ephraim Black."

"Never had the need to," he replied.

"You're impossible," Kate said, rolling her eyes. He caught her hand as it swung by her side, lacing his fingers through hers. He stopped walking suddenly, and Kate felt the tug on her shoulder as he did.

"Well, now you've _got_ to tell me," she pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

"Kate," he said as she turned to face him. His voice was deeper than usual and Kate recognized it as the one he used when they were talking about more serious things.

"I want to ask you something." Ephraim said each word clearly, as if making sure she understood.

"Yes…" Kate bit her lip. Ephraim's posture and tone suggested that she wasn't going to like whatever he was about to say.

"We're…friends, correct?" he asked, her hand still tight in his.

"Of course."

He took a breath. "I realize that this is unconventional. You and I – we aren't _supposed_ to be _friends_. But…" he paused, smiling a little. "As long as we are, I'd like you to meet my family."

"Oh, thank goodness!" Kate yelled, throwing her arms around Ephraim's neck. He chuckled, hugging her back until she blushed and moved away. She titled her head and motioned for them to begin walking again.

"I apologize," she said. "I just…the way you sounded…" She laughed nervously. "I thought something had happened. That you were hurt, or something of the like."

"What would make you think _that_?" he asked.

"Ephraim, you are _rarely_ that serious for longer than a moment. What else was I supposed to think?"

Ephraim opened his mouth to speak, then paused, crinkling his brow. "I suppose you're right."

Kate smiled. "I usually am."

Ephraim laughed. "You are something else, Kate."

"We've discussed this already," she said, a mock-serious expression on her face. "I am nothing but myself."

"Ah," Ephraim exclaimed, "Of course. I'm afraid I had forgotten."

"Just don't do it again."

Ephraim nodded, his ever-present smirk returning to his face. "So, that's a yes, then?"

"What's a yes?"

"You'll meet my family?" Ephraim's eyes were wide and excited as he asked, and Kate flipped her hair over her shoulder, giving him a one-sided smile.

"I would like nothing better, Mr. Black."

He took her hand again, permanent grin etched into his expression. "It's settled then. Tomorrow night."

"That soon?" Kate looked at him, confused. "We can't meet during the day?"

"There's a…" Ephraim took a breath, searching for the right word. "A…_gathering_. Tomorrow night, that is. I rather think my father would like you to come."

"You're sure it must be tomorrow?" Kate asked.

"Is it inconvenient for you?"

Kate thought for a moment. "No," she said, finally. "No, it will be fine."

Ephraim smiled. "It will be _perfect_."


	6. Six

**A/N:** I guess technically you could call that intense break a hiatus. But. Anyway. It's here. And if there is a single person reading this, if it makes them smile or laugh or whatever, then I guess that's enough, right?

--

The next day went by both too fast and not quickly enough. Kate found her body was constantly in motion, hands playing with a cup at breakfast and twisting a stray piece of hair, feet tapping against the hardwood floor and legs stretching underneath the table. Nervous energy bundled in her stomach, but when night finally fell, she wished it was morning again.

There was not much to be anxious about, she told herself. It was silly, really, when being _friends_ – she tried out the word, rolled it around on her tongue – with Ephraim was not something new. She, of course, had other friends, but when she thought of the blank faces of Lela and Catherine, she couldn't help but suppress a grimace.

All the same, she _was_. Anxious. Edgy. Worried about what to wear and what to say and what exactly she would be walking in to.

Kate put on a brown dress, dark enough to blend into the night, plain enough so that her mother wouldn't notice it missing. She left her hair down around her shoulders, twisting a few pieces away from her face. She knew it wouldn't stay pinned by the time she reached the beach – the ocean wind was usually strong at night.

Sneaking out was easier than she expected it to be. She had never much thought about it before – no need to, she guessed, or maybe just no _want_. In any case, she was careful to miss the creakier steps on her way out of the house.

The walk felt long. _Excruciatingly_ long. When she began to hear the crunch of sand under her feet, she pulled off her shoes, letting it fall between her toes.

"Miss St. Clair."

Kate jumped, letting out a small scream. "_God_, Ephraim, you can't just scare a person like that."

"You like surprises," he pointed out.

"The good kind," she said crossly. "You know that."

Ephraim shrugged, then looked her over once, nodding. "You look nice," he said.

Kate rolls her eyes, trying to hide her blush. "It's just a dress," she told him. "Rather plain, actually."

"Not on you." He grinned, holding out his arm. Kate smiled and took it, leaving her shoes in the sand.

"What exactly am I walking in to, then?" she asked Ephraim as they walked.

"I told you. My family."

"Yes, but…"

"You're rather nervous, aren't you?" he said, smirking.

"Of course not," she scoffed.

"Imagine that," he mused, "Kate St. Clair, _nervous_. About my _family_, no less."

"Stop it, would you?" His smile faded as he caught the look on her face. Ephraim took her hand in his, squeezing it.

"There's really nothing to worry about, Kate, honestly," he looked down at her and she opened her mouth to contradict him. "_Really_. Absolutely nothing."

Kate still looked unsure, her eyes skirting down to the sand. "Come on," Ephraim used his free hand to lift her chin up, catching her gaze. "Don't you trust me?"

"Yes," she breathed. Then, to herself: "with my life."

--

The first thing Kate saw was light.

"We're here," Ephraim said, but Kate had already guessed that much.

There were fires – circles of flame growing smaller the farther they went; the deep, musky smell of burning wood and people, so many people, of food and song and _togetherness_. The stars shone overhead, the moon close to full and bright yellow, as if Mother Nature herself could sense the communion underneath and followed in turn.

"It's beautiful," Kate said, hand still clasped in Ephraim's.

"It's home," he answered back.

Kate could see a figure walking towards them, tall and silhouetted in the dark. She unconsciously grasped Ephraim's hand tighter, and he squeezed back in reassurement.

When the figure reached them, Kate could see immediately that the man must've been Ephraim's father. He had the same nose, the same wide mouth (though it was not smiling, as Ephraim's usually was). He was intimidating in size, taller even than Ephraim, with broad shoulders and the astonishing stance of a leader.

"This is her, then?" he asked, his eyes set on Ephraim.

"This is Kate," Ephraim answered.

"I am Otuk." He nodded his head, and Kate flashed a smile.

"It's a pleasure," she replied.

"You were right," Otuk said suddenly, turning back to Ephraim. "She is very beautiful."

Kate just smiled wider.

"Come," Otuk said. "It's starting."

--

Kate had never been somewhere so alive. The Quileutes danced and sang, men and women and children, sometimes to drums or singing and sometimes just to the wind. The food was rich and tasted like the salty air and the wood and _so_ wonderful. And Kate's smile never faltered, because that's what she did.

She knew, however, that this was not her place. She saw the way she was looked at – she saw the rounded disgust at Ephraim's hand in hers. The sound of her name on their tongues was sharp and toneless. Kate realized that as much as she wished she could be a part of something so real, she never would be. She was Katrina St. Clair, suited and sought after and well-off. And this was not her place.

She told Ephraim as much, half-way through the night.

"I shouldn't be here," she whispered when she took him aside.

"I brought you here," he said. "Of course you should."

She shook her head. "Maybe we are friends, Ephraim. But we are not family. This world is not mine."

Ephraim smiled, and Kate frowned in response. "That's what you really think, isn't it?" he asked.

"I wouldn't say it if it weren't."

"Yes, I know." He hung his head, groaning. "You don't see yourself very clearly, Miss Kate."

"What does that mean?" she asked, confused.

"You are not built for what you are. You are built for what you _want_ to be. I know because I've seen it when I tell you about my family, and when you tell me about all the things you want to do, all the places you want to go." He paused, chuckled at her still bewildered expression. "Don't you get it, Kate? _You make your own world_. That's what I've always done."

Kate looked at him sadly. "Then you are much braver than I am."

"One day, you'll understand," Ephraim told her, sighing. "And I'd very much like to be there to see it."


End file.
